


Another Day in Life

by Zimmmbardoz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Branding, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Gen, HP: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, One Shot Collection, Post-Canon, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8057470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimmmbardoz/pseuds/Zimmmbardoz
Summary: Neville and Draco are just trying to get through each day at a time together without stepping on too many toes in the process. A series of one-shots.





	1. One Grey Morning in October

It was foggy and cold that October morning and Neville watched as condensation was trickling down the small window in the kitchen overlooking the vast forest outside. He was watching out for the first rays of sunlight to break through the dense treetops while clutching his third cup of tea. The warmth of it was burning his palms, but he couldn’t help but find comfort in the heat as he was waiting for morning to break. Only a few minutes later the sky started to lighten into pink and Neville heaved a relieved sigh. As summer was turning into autumn, and autumn into winter, the nights were becoming longer and sunlight a much missed part of daily life. Once January came around, these nights sitting up and waiting would become more hellish than they already were, and Neville didn’t know if his partner would make it through another winter – he’d barely made it through the last one.

Dismissing the dark thoughts, Neville got up from his seat and walked to the opposite part of the house. It was nothing impressive. When they’d picked the cottage, luxury or grandeur had been deprioritized in favour of other, more pressing necessities.  

Neville stared at the locked oak door leading to their cellar. It was not reinforced, and could probably be broken easily if anyone were to try to break through, though Neville never had the heart to replace it. It felt like a betrayal of trust towards his partner. Despite what many people thought of Draco Malfoy he was not a bad person and Neville trusted him to never hurt him. Neville knew it sounded cliché, but he wished that people someday would be able to see past the Dark Mark on his partner’s arm and see that he had just been a scared boy who had done everything to protect his family.

“Draco?” He said softly through the door, but he wasn’t able to hear any noise coming from the room. That was either a good or very bad sign, and with worry Neville unlocked the door and pushed it open slowly. The dim light from the hallway barely illuminated the small room down below, and Neville had to squint to spot the still body curled up in the far corner of the dusty room.

Making his way down the stairs as calmly as he managed, Neville approached the figure; “Good morning love,” Neville murmured, careful not to startle the body lying curled up into a tight ball. For a couple of second there was no response, and Neville felt his heart start pounding in his chest with worry. “Draco, are you okay?” he said, mindful of keeping his voice low and steady as he hunched down closer to the figure.

Suddenly, the whole of Draco’s body tensed and leaped into action by pushing himself as far up into the corner as possible. He looked like a trapped animal, his eyes wide, pale and wolfish-blue, and feral. If Neville would have to guess, he’d bet he’d be able to see a hint of canines protruding in his partner’s mouth.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Neville practically cooed, aware he sounded far calmer than he felt. “You’re alright, love. I’ve got you.”

The eyes shifted quickly back and forth across the room, before turning to Neville full of fear an ferocity. Neville had seen Draco like this quite a few times before, and knew it meant it had been a bad night with the wolf still lingering at the forefront of Draco’s being.

Gathering all of his Gryffindor courage, Neville reached out a tentative hand, aware of the pale blue eyes following his every move. They didn’t know if Draco could infect anyone like this, but Neville couldn’t bear to watch him suffer like he was now, so he decided it was a risk he was much willing to take.

As his hand gingerly touched the werewolf’s cheek the eyes lost its’ ferocity, and Neville could finally see a hint of Draco in them. “Hey you,” Neville whispered relieved as recognition glimmered in the wolf-blue eyes.

“Neville,” the werewolf croaked, his voice hoarse from misuse, “You look scared.” 

Relief flooded through Neville, even though the words stung. He shook his head, “No, love, I was just worried. I thought I had lost you again.”

Draco averted his gaze, chewing his lips thoughtfully, “It was a bad night. I couldn’t control it...” he let out a shuddering breath, his naked form slumping, “The potion didn’t work.”

The resignation was evident on the werewolf’s face, so obviously tired from the transformation and everything else. Draco looked like he had aged so much in the past few years since the war ended, his face, once so pale and unmarred was now scattered with scars and a very slight hint of tan. He sought the sun out a lot more now, relished in the feeling of the warm glow on his skin as he would go for runs barefoot through the forest. Draco always thought of them as flaws and would grimace at himself in the mirror, but Neville thought they fitted him in a way. He looked a lot healthier than back during the battle of Hogwarts, they both did.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about the potion, you came back to me. You’re alright.” Neville reassured, crouching in front of the werewolf and lifting his chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. “ _We are okay_.”

The pale eyes bore into him, analytic and unsure, but finally losing that wolfish hue to them that made them so intimidating, “I could have hurt you.”

“I know you tend to forget, but I am more than capable of handling myself. Remember Nagini, that big ugly snake of Voldemort’s?”

Draco flinched at the mention of the name, but couldn’t help the tired chuckle escaping him none the less, “Firstly, don’t change the topic. Secondly, I don’t think I would ever forget even if I wanted to, _Oh great Basilisk Slayer_.”

“She wasn’t a basilisk.”

“Weasley certainly make it sound like it every bloody time he retells the story. And I told you, don’t change the topic, you twat.”

Neville grimaced, recalling the times they’d all been at the Leaky Cauldron together. Ron relished in the attention of being a war-hero, telling stories of the Golden Trio’s adventures, and sometimes his friends success too. He was particularly fond of recounting the tales the few times that Draco was there with them, as if he hadn’t witnessed it himself. Ron didn’t particularly approve of Neville’s choice in partners, so he made it very clear that he thought the Gryffindor was far too good for the Slytherin by telling how Neville slayed Voldemort’s snake, as well as basically being the head of the resistance at Hogwarts. Safe to say, things were still a bit tense between Ron and Draco.

“Well, Ron was always the most boisterous out of the three. Harry usually hated it.”

Draco sighed, resigning himself to the fact that Neville was unrelenting, “Fucking hell, the world really must be ending when Potter and I finally agree on something.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Neville softly planted a kiss on the werewolf’s forehead in reassurance, “but I promise, alright. It will never come down to that. I trust you. Now come on, you must be freezing. Go take a shower, and I’ll make us some tea and breakfast.”

“You know, Longbottom, tea doesn’t actually solve anything.”

Draco couldn’t be that bad if he still had energy to snark at him, Neville reassured himself as he started shepherding the blonde up the stairs towards the kitchens. “It’s a damn good place to start. Now up, I don’t have time to care for a pathetically sick Slytherin with man-flu simply because he refused to put some clothes on.”

The Slytherin in question looked like he wanted to argue, but the slump in his shoulders suggested that he was simply too tired to put up a fight with Neville’s mothering. “Fine. I need a shower anyway, I stink.”

“I was under the impression that you thought it was Harry who stank.”

“Shut up, Longbottom”

 


	2. A Luminous Afternoon in August

Draco was running. The hot air of late summer was hitting him the face, making sweat and condensation gather at his forehead as he tore through the trees. Dry leaves were cracking and flying everywhere under his bare feet as he ran, and he could hear his strides and panting breath echoing between the forest’s surfaces.

It was only early afternoon, and he was trying to get rid of all the excess tension which had built up in the last week as the full moon was steadily approaching. Over the years he had attempted a lot of different things; he had tried meditation, reading, lots of sex, cold showers... Granger even had him try aromatherapy, but that had been a disaster beyond belief with his inhuman senses and sensitivities. But he had found out that the best method was simply to run as fast and hard as he possibly could, which wore him and his wolf down enough to pass for human for another day.

It was part of the reason why Neville had suggested they’d move to the small cottage on the countryside with the woods at the doorstep. Neville had of course never admitted to several of the reason for the move, but Draco knew it was mostly for his benefit they had decided to leave their cramped but homely flat in Diagon Alley, right next to Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. London had become too suffocating with large amount wizards and witches who had a strong dislike for Draco after the Battle; even though Harry had testified for the werewolf and his family during the trials, the Malfoys had still been incredibly unpopular in the wake of the Dark Lord’s fall. Some days were so bad that Draco could hardly bear to step foot outside. On top of that, the noise and smells and all the other new impressions that came along with being a werewolf almost overwhelmed Draco daily.

So they moved, with Neville stating it was because he wanted to live closer to nature so he could harvest wild plants and work with his herbology full-time. Draco never argued, silently appreciating the other man’s gentle nature and selflessness – something his past self would have mocked without guilt, but now was sometimes the only thing that didn’t have him jump off the top of the Astronomy Tower.

A crunch from dried twig as it was crushed under his foot snapped the werewolf out of his stupor, and he slowed to a halt as he realised that he had ran for far too long. He had promised Neville that he’d go with him to visit the Potters’ for dinner tonight, and he would have to get back soon if he intended to get a shower and smarten up so it didn’t look like he had been dragged backwards through the undergrowth of the forest.

When he finally made it back to the cottage, Neville was outside tending to a shrub of Dittany growing below their kitchen window. Draco had to stop by the edge for a bit and admire the man in front of him as Neville cared for the plant, completely content and at peace with the small home they had made together.

As if sensing his approach, Neville looked up from the Dittany, a smile appearing on his face as he spotted the werewolf, “You’re back – how was the run?” he asked, completely ignoring the fact that Draco was barefoot, and covered in mud and leaves.

“It was okay. I feel a bit better now.” He shrugged, still watching fascinated as Neville started collecting some of the Dittany into a basket, “What are those for?” He asked casually as he approached the other man, planting a soft kiss on the top of his head.

Neville’s eyes twinkled at the display of affection, before answering, “It’s for St. Mungo’s. They floo’d us while you were out and asked us – well, you really, to cook up another batch of that healing salve.”

Humming thoughtfully, Draco started planning the process of making the salve – it took a few hours to brew, then it had to set for another two days, “When do they want it approximately?”

“As soon as possible, but by the end of the week at the latest. Apparently they are expecting a lot of accidents now that school is starting up. ”

“I can do that.” Draco shrugged, lost in thoughts about how soon he could get started and whether the full moon would disrupt the process in any way. “I mean, I would have to start tomorrow at latest, but work is work, right?”

Neville smiled fondly at the werewolf, “Yeah, we are pretty lucky.”

They had been taking odd jobs over the last few years. Neville had originally attended auror-training with Weasley and Harry, but quickly discovered that it hadn’t been for him and pursued a career within herbology instead. Draco did not work as frequently as Neville, simply because his werewolf-status made it difficult to hold down a job. Even though Kingsley implemented the anti-prejudice law there were still very few employers who willingly hired a known werewolf and death eater. Despite this, he had sought out Severus’ portrait during their 8th year, and with McGonagall’s approval, had become the potion master’s apprentice. Deceased or not, that man knew more about potions than any other half-competent brewer that Draco had ever met. Even though his apprenticeship had ended many years ago, he still sought his Godfather’s guidance from time to time – in fact, so often that McGonagall had given him a portrait which he could hang in his own office so he “didn’t come bother her in her office whenever he needed tips on how to correctly cut gilly-weed”. It was a nice gesture and Draco couldn’t thank the Headmistress enough. Now she got a Christmas card every year, and he got scolded each time Severus thought he was being too impatient in letting the potion simmer.

Despite himself, Draco couldn’t help but return Neville’s smile and nod silently in agreement. He then stretched and winced slightly as he felt all the muscles in his back and legs twinge after the long run.

“We have to be at Harry and Ginny’s in a couple of hours... I filled up the tub for you with some hot water earlier. It should still be warm, I placed a heating-charm on it, so.” Right, it was final, Neville was his knight in shining armour, and Draco didn’t care if that made him the damsel in distress. Neville could rescue him from any castle any day, and he’d even wear a fucking tiara if he had to.

“I will be returning the favour later,” Draco said teasingly, planting another kiss on top of Neville’s head.

The Gryffindor’s cheeks became tinted with pink, but his voice remained steady as he said in a superior tone, “I would expect nothing less.”

With a coy grin, Draco went inside and headed for the bathroom. It was very much like the rest of their wee cottage – quaint and homely with just the essentials. Their small tub was pushed into the corner of the room, filled with bubbles and suds smelling of plain soap and only a hint of lemon.

Draco hummed in appreciation at Neville’s thoughtfulness. Over the years, as the wolf had become more and more a part of him, his sense of smell had become too sensitive to deal with the manufactured scents of lavender and other strong infusions. They made him sneeze and his eyes itch. It was partly why he couldn’t stand being at Lovegood’s for too long – she thought that she could tame wrackspurts with strong incense and scented candles.

Stripping down, he chose to forgo the mirror, and slipped into the tub. The warm water felt like it was caressing his skin and soothing his aching muscles, and the werewolf swore he could feel the animalistic part of his brain purr happily at the successful run and the bath his mate had drawn for him.

It was a strange feeling, even though he’d been living with the curse for years. In the beginning, the wolf felt like an entirely separate entity of his mind – entirely corporeal and animalistic, ready to pounce and control Draco at any chance it had. He sometimes felt the transformation threatening to come out then, like the monster was right under his skin, ready to sprout fur and fangs even during daytime. It was only after Neville had so rudely burst into his life the wolf had seemed to settle and had become one with Draco’s own mind. Sometimes it felt like it could still hover at the back of his thoughts, but then the tension and animalistic instinct were all him, and not the wolf. He didn’t know what was worse, when him and the wolf had been separate, or when him and the wolf had melded into one. Neville always said that the wolf were part of him, not matter what, but that it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing – he claimed that he had witnessed Draco grow stronger and more compassionate during the beginning of their then fragile friendship than he had ever been before when they had been young students at Hogwarts together. Neville claimed it made him more human.

Draco got out of the tub with a sigh as he noticed his skin started to wrinkle. These thoughts were hardly productive, as it sent him down a spiral of self-doubt that was difficult to pull himself out of. Shaking his head, as if getting rid of the thoughts, he wrapped a towel around his waist and picked up his muddy clothes that were scattered over the tiled bathroom floor.

As he was searching for his boxers, he came face to face with his reflection and he could feel the thoughts of doubt bubbling up again at the forefront of his mind. Because that were another thing that wasn’t right, wasn't it. Before his appearance would have been pristine, with his blonde hair slicked back and not a blemish on his skin; now his hair was wild and untameable, his teeth shaped in to small fangs and his eyes had a certain animalistic glow to them that made his werewolf-status almost impossible to hide. Another thing was his skin that was littered in unsightly scars all over his body and face; some self-inflicted from rough full-moons and some inflicted by friends and foes. One that particularly stood out was a large, pink scar in the shape of a massive animal’s jaw located just where his right shoulder and neck connected. The sight of it brought up many painful and terrible memories that always made Draco feel sick to his stomach. Another prominent reminder of his werewolf status was burned into his skin on his left flank, just next to his heart in the form of a dark brand; it was the letter B, with five smaller Xs underneath it, all bolded out in fine print. It was his classification that marked him as a beast that was impossible to train or domesticate - it had been the new method Ministry of Magic had implemented after the war to deal with the epidemic of dark creatures that the Dark Lord had left in his passing. Mind, it had only been the dark wizards that received the brand as they were the only ones considered a threat, while the rest of the population had been treated as victims and became protected by anti-discrimination laws implemented by Kingsley Shacklebolt.

It had been another way of shaming him of his dark status, as if the brand of the Dark Mark hadn’t been enough.

A soft knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts once more and he hastily resumed his search for his boxers as he called, “come in!”. He didn’t want Neville catch him staring at his reflection, as it would cause him to give Draco that knowing look that the werewolf hated.

The man in question stepped in, with a look on his face that Draco couldn’t quite read, “Draco, are you alright? You’ve been in here for ages,”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” the werewolf said, as he finally found his pants lying beneath the sink, “just been looking for these,”

Draco shuffled to pick up the remainder of his clothes before catching Neville looking in the mirror as he straightened.

“What,” he asked defensively, then noticed that Neville wasn’t looking him in the eyes, but rather was looking at the rest of him. Draco was about to make a nasty remark before he also noticed the look was neither pitiful nor disgusted as they roamed, but filled with warmth… and was that lust?

Draco sniffed the air experimentally – yes, definitely arousal, and he couldn’t help but smirk as he turned, noticing the other man was standing so close, effectively trapping him against the sink. Usually this motion would have the wolf in him lash out, but this was Neville and for the second time that day he could feel the animalistic part of him purr contently.

“You look gorgeous, darling” Neville muttered, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. Draco could feel the hair on his arms sprout out in goosebumps, a warmth flooding over his body.

“Neville,”

The other man didn’t comment on the tremble in his voice, merely placing a tender kiss on his forehead.

“We’ll be late for the dinner,” Draco said, trying to gather himself, as he realised that they wouldn’t get anywhere for the rest of the day if he let this continue.

Neville hummed against him thoughtfully, before he decisively concluded with, “Harry and Ginny can wait.”

“Yes,” Draco amended, “But their kids can’t,”

With a disappointed huff, Neville retracted, and Draco couldn’t help the sting of disappointment even though he knew he only had himself to blame.

“Why Draco, I didn’t know you were so eager to attend dinner with the Potters’,” he said teasingly.

A blush crept up Draco’s neck, and he could feel his hackles coming out, “I’m not. I just don’t want Potty to yell at me next time I see him how disappointed his kids were that their favourite uncle wasn’t there to play with them.”

Neville rolled his eyes, “Right. Because it’s them who’ll be disappointed and totally not you.”

Draco stuck his tongue out at him, playfully “I’m the favourite for a reason, you dick.”   

Neville laughed pleasantly at that, and the tension was gone once again as he circled his arms around the werewolf, “Sometimes I think you love the children more than me,”

“They’re more reasonable than you,”

“How you’re able to say that with a serious look on your face, while standing practically naked with only a fluffy pink towel to protect you is beyond me.”

Glancing down at himself, he noticed he was totally exposed but he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow with a smirk spreading, “See something you like, Longbottom?” he purred.

“Well, too bad, ‘cause I’m getting dressed.” He let one of his hands brush flirtatiously over Neville’s broad chest as he sauntered out of the bathroom, “Can’t attend a party like this when I know that you’d be drooling all over the Sunday roast because of me.”

“Bastard,” He heard his mate mutter faintly, and Draco laughed, feeling elated that even though he might not look like he used to, he could still leave some people high and dry.

He’d make sure to show his own appreciation later though.  

 


	3. A Drunken Night in November

“You should come with,” Neville said as he adjusted the plain robes he was wearing to sit properly over his shoulders.

There was a amused snort behind him from their bed, “Right. I am sure Weasley and Potter will be thrilled that you brought your boyfriend with you to _lads’ night_.”

The proportions of his robe seemed completely off and completely unwilling to cooperate with him, and Neville felt his frustration grow as he struggled with the clasps. “Don’t talk like that. I’m sure Harry would enjoy your company.”

“Harry might, but Weasley is still scared of me.”

There really wasn’t anything Neville could say to that and a resigned silence followed, with only the sound of Neville’s frustrated huffs as he struggled with the robe and the rustling of crusty paper as Draco flicked through the pages of whatever book he was reading breaking the quiet.

After another minute of struggling Neville gave up on his robes with an annoyed growl, and resigned himself to another night wearing muggle clothing he found a lot easier to deal with than complicated wizarding robes. As he was about to tear of the robes in his frustration pale hands calmly settled on the clasp he had struggled for so long with.

“You’re treating this like a hooligan, Longbottom. These are expensive robes that you have to treat with finesse, not attack it like it’s some rabid dog.”

Neville turned around in the slender arms encircling him, and looked down in astonishment as skilled fingers twisted and turned the silver clasp with careful precision. Draco’s face was entirely focused on the object in his hands, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he worked.

“Aha,” he exclaimed triumphantly as the lock slipped into place with a click and Neville realised he was staring as Draco’s eyes caught his and gleamed with self-satisfaction. “See, it’s not an art, Longbottom. You should be able to do this by yourself.”

Neville smiled at the Slytherin, his tone humorous and warm as he spoke, “I guess. Good thing I’ve got you to do it for me though.”

A slight tint of pink spread across Draco’s cheeks and he mumbled something incoherent Neville couldn’t decipher, but Neville could say with certainty that whatever foul language the blonde had used would have earned him a smack from Professor McGonagall.

“You’d be probably dead in a ditch somewhere if it wasn’t for me.”

Neville shrugged, seeing no point in arguing with the grouchy werewolf who had returned to his book, which the Gryffindor now saw was titled ‘ _Magick Most Evile’_ by Godelot. He frowned, something in his mind nagging at him, “Where did you get that?” he said and nodded at the book.

Draco looked at him with what could only be interpreted as a bored expression, but Neville could detect a slight gleam of guilt in his eyes, “I got it from Granger for safe-keeping. She’d usually keep it in her office, but after the massive doxy outbreak in the Ministry a few days ago she didn’t want to risk ruining her precious books while the aurors sorted out the mess, but also didn’t want to keep a dark book in her house with grubby hands touching everything.”

“You shouldn’t talk about Rose like that, she’s barely a year old.”

“I was talking about Weasley. The Granger-Weasley offspring is alright in my book.”

Neville snorted a laugh, as he thought he should have seen that one coming. It had turned out that Draco was quite good with children, which had come as a surprise to everyone. What had come as even more of a surprise was that the children liked Draco in turn. He was particularly good with his little cousin. It amused Neville and Harry to no end as Teddy followed Draco around the house whenever the Potters were visiting, with Draco patiently answering every inane question the little boy had. It made Neville’s heart swell to watch his lover treat the little boy with such care, and knew he only reserved that kind of affection for a very few people. It only made him slightly sad that he and Draco could never have their own children in the future.

“I’m sure Ron would love to hear you say that.”

“I don’t care what Weasley wants to hear or whatever. But really, that man has the grace of a troll in a potion’s lab. No wonder Granger didn’t trust him with the book.” Draco smirked, obviously humoured by his own clever comparison.

As much as he loved Ron, Neville couldn’t help but agree.

Suddenly the small clock hanging on the wall rang, indicating that it had just turned 8 in the evening. Draco looked at it sourly, as if the very sound was offending his ears, “You should get going, I bet that Boy Wonder and Weasel are waiting for you.”

Neville sighed, and picked up his keys, “You should come.” He tried again, knowing what the answer was going to be, but hoping that for once that Draco would agree to come with him. Neville knew that Draco only used Ron as an excuse to stay home. The Slytherin had become so secluded in the years after the war, and only ventured outside in the Wizarding community when he absolutely had to. Neville didn’t blame him, because he knew that despite everything Shacklebolt and Harry had fought for, Draco faced a lot of fear and prejudice for his status as a Death Eater and known werewolf. After the war he had even stayed in the Muggle-part of Edinburgh because he couldn’t deal with the guilt the Wizarding world forced onto him. It had been where Neville had bumped into him so many years ago.

For once though, Draco seemed to hesitate with his answer, and Neville felt a spark of hope ignite in his chest. The Slytherin worried his lip and looked down at the book that lay open in his lap. Neville held his breath in anticipation.

“Fine.” Draco spat at him, “but only for a little while. I can only endure Weasley’s company for a limited time before I start worrying that his stupidity will be infectious.”

Neville beamed at Draco, and pecked the blonde’s lips, “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

The Slytherin scoffed, “Right, we’ll see.”

 

 

The Leaky Cauldron was blessedly empty save for a few wizards sitting by the bar when Neville and Draco appeared through the Floo, and Neville could have sworn he heard the blonde let out a relieved sigh that they weren’t about to get mobbed by angry witches and wizards upon their entry.

Neville spotted Harry sitting at a small table hidden in the corner of the pub, “I can see Harry. Come on,” he grabbed Draco’s pale hand and tugged, feeling the small scars that littered the blonde’s hand from long days spent in the potion’s lab and long nights spent under the full moon.

“I don’t…”

Draco started to protest, but Neville squeezed his hand reassuringly, “You’re alright. We leave whenever you want, okay?”

A sigh and a nod, and they walked over.

Harry gave them both a bright smile as they approached, “Neville, Draco, it’s good to see you both. Ron’s running a bit late, something about annoying brothers and angry females. I decided not to question it.”

“I can imagine Hermione wouldn’t be very pleased with him if he blew up another one of her good cauldrons, no.” Neville said with a smile. “But I see you’ve already got a drink, Harry. Would you like another?”

Harry shook his head, “No, I’ll wait a bit. I know my limits.”

Neville laughed, “Fair enough. I’ll just get one for Draco and myself then.”

He walked over to the bar, happy to leave Harry and Draco to have a small chat between themselves. It had turned out they both liked each other well enough, once they got past their usual hostility and low barbs, and dare he say, they’d become something akin to friends.

“Two Firewhiskeys, please,” he said to Hannah Abbott who had taken over the Cauldron after Tom gave it up after the war.

She gave him a coy smile, “Coming right up.”

It baffled him to think about what could have been if he hadn’t run into Draco all those years ago. Everyone knew that him and Hannah had a thing in their final year, and they’d kept it going for a solid year after as well, but it seemed a bit too picture perfect for Neville, and he had eventually broken it off with the Abbott girl. It just didn’t seem right to him, the two of them together. He was almost certain he’d loved her, but after everything, it just seemed too boring to settle down with this perfect girl. When he and Draco met again after the war, the boy had been everything Hannah hadn’t been, and it was exciting and rough, but never difficult or boring. It had been right.

He had to admit though, Hannah Abbott was gorgeous.

“How’re thing with you by the way?” He asked as she prepared the drink. The pub was fairly empty, so he didn’t feel too bad about taking up some of her time.

“I’m good,” she answered, her focus entirely caught up in measuring the Firewhiskey in the tumblers. “Keeping busy and all that. Shop is going well, but it gets a bit lonely sometimes. It’d be nice to get some help around here now and then.”

“I’m see. I’m sure you’d find someone if you looked,” Neville said, feeling a slight sting of guilt. He sometimes wondered if Hannah held a grudge that he had left her for another man, but then again, she had never been petty and always believed in the best of people.

“Well, maybe.” Hannah placed the drinks in front of him. They were both filled to the rim, which Neville was pretty sure wasn’t the standard measure for Firewhiskey. “But it seems like too much of a hassle. That’ll be ten sickles, please.”

Neville rummaged around his pockets, fishing up the little money pouch which Draco had gotten him for Christmas. “There you go. Thanks.” He smiled awkwardly at her as he took both the drinks.

As he turned to leave, she spoke again, “You’re good together, you know. You look so happy with him.”

He turned, and gave her a genuine smile, “Thanks, Hannah. I appreciate that.”

“Also, he seems like less of a prick with you.”

Neville had to laugh at that. “I’m not so sure actually. Draco will probably be glad to hear it though.”

Hannah smiled at him, “I’ll talk to you later, Neville.”

Back at the table, Harry and Draco seemed engrossed in a discussion, not even noticing Neville returning with drinks in hand; “I don’t think you understand, if the magical properties were different, it would have an entirely different purpose.”

“I’m just saying if you broke down the brewing part by adding unicorn hair, you’d have just as an effective potion.”

“This is why you almost failed potion, Potter. There are certain aspects of brewing that cannot be altered, otherwise it would have disastrous effects. Imagine if you cut down the month-long process of polyjuice, you’d probably be stuck as some horrid mix of human limbs.”

Neville shook his head as he listened to the two argue. Harry was apparently investigating a potion-dealing ring which was selling illicit and unauthorised potions across the UK, and the aurors were stumped on how the distributors were making and getting them around so quickly.

“Listen, if you absolutely have to know, drop by tomorrow and talk to Severus. I’m sure he’d be _so pleased_ to see you bothering him. He keeps complaining that the frame I’ve got for him is too small, so it’d be nice to hear him bitch about something else for a change.”

Harry looked at Draco in stunned silence for a second, “You have a portrait of Snape?”

“Yeah, in my lab. It’s connected to his main frame at Hogwarts. He helps me with brewing,” Draco shrugged and grabbed the firewhiskey of Neville with a grateful smile. Neville was glad to see him finally relaxing a bit.

The information seemed to have shocked Harry quite a bit, and Neville saw Draco twitch with muted laughter next to him. It wasn’t common knowledge that the Slytherin kept his Godfather’s portrait in his potions lab, and Neville hadn’t really known until one day he snuck in with the intention to give his lover a pleasant surprise and was rudely startled himself by snarky voice on the wall. Neville quickly got used to the idea however, and found that he didn’t really mind as Snape wasn’t as scary when he couldn’t hover over him like an overgrown bat. Also, it seemed to make Draco happy to have him there, so how could Neville say no.

Harry seemed thoughtful for a while, before nodding, “You know, I might take you up on that.”

Draco shrugged again, and Neville noted with surprise that the blonde had stealthily sidled closer to him, making him feel the brush of the other man’s shoulder. It made Neville’s heart warm. It might also have been the whiskey.

“Alright, lads. How’s it going?”  Someone chirped from behind them, and they twisted around to be met with the smiling face of Ronald Weasley. Ron had arrived in a brilliantly red robe, and Neville glared at Draco as he dared him to make a rude comment. 

“You’re awfully chipper,” Harry comment as he downed the rest of his pint.

Ron’s smiled widened, “I’m becoming an uncle, mate, of course I’m happy.”

“What? No way!”

“Yeah, George just told me. They’re going to have a little girl!”

“That’s amazing, congrats mate!”

Neville beamed up at Ron as well, “Yeah, congratulations, Ron. That’s amazing news.”

Ron was practically glowing with pride for his brother, as they proceeded to congratulate him, “I know. It’ll be nice to have another pair of small feet at the burrow.” He smiled mischievously, “Not even Malfoy being here can ruin this moment.”

Even though the tone had been playful, Neville felt Draco tense up next to him. He reassuringly squeezed his arm, silently pleading the Slytherin not to rip Ron apart, verbally or otherwise. Draco slowly relaxed back into Neville’s side.

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, Weasley, for however long it’ll last. Say, how many are you now? 30? 40? I’m surprised Mrs. Weasley can afford to feed you all.” The blonde snidely remarked, the old smirk he so often used in school but now only reserved for Ron playing on his lips.

Neville sighed in exasperation and Harry left, muttering something about needing another drink.

Ron turned beetroot red, “You’re such a git,”

“It takes one to know one, as the muggles say… also, I thought you said that I couldn’t ruin your mood – touchy, aren’t we?”

If possible, Ron turned even redder, “You know, you’ve not changed. I don’t understand how Neville puts up with you sometimes. I’d thought you’d changed after fucking Greyback – “

Neville had enough, and so apparently had Draco, who Neville had to practically restrain from pouncing on the redhead by digging his fingers into the blonde’s bicep. He knew if he looked, Draco’s eyes would be icy blue like that of the wolf and fangs would be visible as he snarled. The blonde always had a hard time controlling his features if he let his anger get the best of him, and though it happen more rarely these days, Ron and Draco always seemed to bring out the worst in each other.

“That’s enough, both of you.” Neville said, glaring at Ron in warning, his voice full of authority and well-concealed anger. It wasn’t a tone he used often, but one he had perfected during his time as leader for Dumbledore’s Army.

The two men glared at each other, urging the other to give up first. It was always a battle between them, and Neville sighed again. It was difficult when one of his best friends and his boyfriend despised each other; he was pretty certain he would die accidentally one day simply because he tried to split up their fighting. One wayward spell and there he’d be, on the ground all dead and cold and Harry would have to take care of Draco, because the blonde would probably forget to eat or something stupid, and die too, that idiot.

“Fine. I’m sorry.” To Neville’s immense surprise, it had been Draco who had apologised. Even though it had seemed more like an apology for upsetting Neville, the Gryffindor couldn’t help but be proud of the blonde.

Ron looked visibly shocked, and didn’t even respond as Harry approached and nudged him forcibly with a glass of firewhiskey.

“Malfoy apologised…” Ron muttered, staring at the Slytherin as if he’d put on a skirt and done the hula.

Draco huffed and crossed his arms in annoyance, “Don’t make such a big deal of it, Weasley. All that gaping is hardly becoming.”

Harry handed him both another glass of firewhiskey as well, giving them both a small smile as if apologising for the whole ordeal, before he spoke as well, “So, are we drinking or not? I don’t know about you, but I definitely need to get on another level. Did I tell you how James shat himself the other day, then decided to use it as paint to redecorate the walls?”

The rest of them shook their heads, staring at the Boy who Lived in horrified silence. Harry just seemed to shrug in response to their visible disgust.

Neville seemed to shake the thought off the quickest, “So what happened to ‘knowing your limits’?”

Ron snorted in amusement, which earned him a glare from Harry, who responded while still sending daggers at his brother-in-law, “It looks like we all could need to let loose some. Why not do it the old-fashioned way?”

“Cheers to that,” Draco said, rising his glass.

 

  
The night was surprisingly pleasant after that, and the night only came to an end after Ron threw up violently on the floor and Hannah chucked them all out for disturbing the other customers. 

“You’re in no state to apparate, Weasley. You’ll splinch yourself, then Granger will blame me and never lend me another book.”

The four of them were stumbling down one of the smaller streets in Diagon Alley, so they weren’t being bothered by the few wizards wandering about doing some night-time shopping. It was bad enough that the four of them were pissed in the Leaky Cauldron, it was a whole different bad that Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy were all stumbling along like that in public. Imagine what the Prophet would write in the morning. Neville dreaded to think about what Skeeter would do if she heard of it.

“Yeah, but” Ron hiccupped, “I have to get home. Hermione is expecting me soon. Also, I have work tomorrow, I think.”

“Abbott said we could come back when you three sobered up some and wasn’t making an embarrassment of yourselves.” Draco responded curtly.

“Say, Draco,” Harry started, giving Neville’s boyfriend a scrutinizing look, and Neville suddenly felt territorial; _how dare Harry look at Draco like that_. “How come you’re only half as drunk as you should be?”

Draco shrugged, and Neville felt the bony shoulders dig into his armpit. He was leaning heavily on Draco who seemed to struggle some under his weight, and Neville reminded himself to make it up for the blonde who was definitely going to be ranting in the morning about how he should have left the Gryffindor in the gutter like he deserved.

“Well,” Draco hesitated, seeming unsure if he should explain it to the others, and Neville gave him an encouraging nudge. Draco glared at him, before continuing, “It’s cause I’m… a werewolf. My metabolism is a bit… different.”

“Oh! Bill has that too, but he also had a good tolerance from before. Like, he massive though, and you’re tiny so, like…”

“Shut up, Ron.” Harry said good naturedly, cutting the red-head short. Neville was thankful.

Neville felt Draco hitch him further up on his shoulder as they continued walking in companionable silence. It was a chilly night in November and Neville could see his lover’s breath come out in puffs from pink lips that were in stark contrast with his pale skin with the exception of his cheeks which were red from the cold. He was so thin and hardly dressed for the outside with only a dove grey coat covering his frame. Neville could feel him shivering through the jacket.   

 _Ron’s right_ , _he’s so tiny. He must so be cold._  

Neville wasn’t entirely sure where the idea had come from, but he quickly came to a halt, effectively stopping Draco in his tracks as well.

The blonde looked up at him in well-concealed surprise and annoyance, “Neville, why are we stopping?”

Instead of answering, Neville carefully withdrew himself from Draco’s arms and tugged off the scarf around his neck. “You’re freezing,” He answered simply, then wrapped the thick scarf around Draco who looked too stunned to protest.

“There,” Neville said proudly, examining his handiwork. The large Gryffindor scarf was tightly bound around the Slytherin’s neck and parts of his face, protecting him from the cold air. The red and gold suited him well, Neville thought.

“Oi, stop being all cute and couple-like! This is a lad’s night, not a date night.” Ron shouted from ahead, where him and Harry were waiting at the alley’s exit into the main street.

Draco blushed profusely, and Neville felt all warm despite the cold.

“Let’s just go,” Draco muttered embarrassed, grabbing Neville’s hand and dragged him along. Despite the cool exterior, Neville felt the blonde squeeze his hand tightly in thanks. He smiled happily.

 

  
They didn’t get back home before three o’clock that night. They both stumbled through the fireplace, still unsteady on their feet despite Hannah giving them all glasses of water before she let them use the floo to get back home.

Neville tripped and crashed into Draco’s back as he exited, sending them both tumbling onto the floor in a heap. Draco was particularly imaginative with his curses as he tried to untangle them and Neville giggled as he resisted by pulling the Slytherin into a firm hug.

The blonde seemed to resist for about a second before he relaxed into the hug. “Neville,” he breathed as he clutched the fabric of the Gryffindor’s shirt.

“Hmm?” Neville murmured, already feeling sleep and alcohol overtake his senses. He could just sleep right here, right?

“Neville, we can’t sleep on the floor.” Draco said, his voice soft.

Grunting, Neville pulled the man closer to him. “Yes, we can.” He didn’t want to move, and he just had to convince Draco that the rug was a perfectly good alternative to their bed, if not better cause they wouldn’t have to leave the nice warmth of the fireplace.

Sighing, Draco pushed away him. “At least let me get some pillows and throws. And for Merlin’s sake, remove your outer-wear.”

Neville sleepily complied, as he sluggishly pulled at his jacket. He didn’t manage to get it all the way off, and he gave up with his sleeves mid-way down his elbows. He settled more comfortably on the rug. How had he not noticed how plush it was before? Was it wool?

Draco soon returned, a neat stack of blanket and cushions in his arms. Neville could feel his scrutinizing eyes on him as he hovered above.

“Goddammit Neville,” Neville heard him mutter through his sleepy haze. “Can’t do anything yourself.” Suddenly, warms hands were onto him, tugging of the remainder of the jacket sleeves and effectively freeing him from the confines. And then, his head was propped up with a pillow and a throw was placed on top of him and wrapped around him snuggly. All the while he heard Draco muttering affectionately next to him.

“Move,” Draco spoke more clearly now, nudging Neville slightly to the side before he laid down too, warming Neville further with his body.

The living room was quiet, with only the crackle of the fireplace filling the silence. Neville cracked open one eye, only to be met with stormy grey eyes staring right back at him. Neville knew if he looked closely, he would be able to see flecks of arctic blue and gold in them.

Draco seemed to hesitate, unsure of himself as he carefully and quietly spoke, as if he spoke too loudly he would shatter the peaceful atmosphere engulfing them, “Thanks for… you know, tonight.”

Neville knew the meaning behind the simple statement; thanks for looking out for me, thanks for putting up with me, thanks for including me, thanks for being on my side. Neville smiled sleepily, “No problem. Thanks for coming with me tonight.”

Draco entwined their fingers underneath the blanket, and looked almost entranced as he played with their fingers. “You didn’t have to get between Weasley and I though. I would have handled it.”

It was hard to imagine how the Slytherin would have handled that without it resorting into hexes and a ban from the Leaky Cauldron for the unforeseeable future, though Neville’s drunken mind wasn’t really of any help at the moment.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice gravely with sleep, “I wanted to. Besides, I can hardly let you have all the fun, now can I?”

“You’re utterly hopeless, you know,” The words were soft and tender, with no malice in them.

“Good thing I’ve got you then.”

Draco’s eyes glowed with rare affection, a small smile playing on his lips, “Good thing we’ve got each other, I think you mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would appreciate some feedback on this, and what you'd like to see in this fic in the future! Thanks for reading!


	4. A Talkative Christmas Night in December

The Christmas invitations from the Potter-Weasleys, and his Mother and Father were splayed in front of Draco along with the plain muggle calendar Neville had gotten him as a gift for last year’s Christmas.

Draco carefully picked up the party invite from his parents. It was thick, coloured parchment with intricate gold details that flowed with magic over the curved letters written in his mother’s hand. Draco huffed at the ornate paper which would have impressed him at a younger age but now only appeared unnecessarily gaudy and boasting. It was in stark contrast to the one Neville and him had gotten from their friends, which seemed to be of Teddy’s own production judging from the colourful crayons and stickers on plain muggle paper. He smiled a bit at the imagery of Teddy sitting at the table and creating the invitation with an enthusiasm only an eight year old could have.

Putting the two invitations aside with a heavy sigh he studied the calendar intensely, willing the dates to change magically or for at least something to be different. Really, everything always had the worst timing.

‘ _Are you hanging up a stocking on your wall? It’s the time that every Santa has a ball._ ’

The song echoed through their small house, and Draco frowned in surprise. It had been a while since he’d dug up his old muggle CDs, and he thought they were tucked away in a box with the rest of the muggle stuff he’d gathered while he’d lived in Edinburgh. As if hearing the wonder in Draco’s mind’s Neville slid into the kitchen on his socks with a big grin on his face.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked unsure while eyeing Neville who was just wearing Mrs. Weasley’s knitted woollen socks, boxers and a T-shirt.

Neville’s grin widened, “Do you like it? I found your old box and thought saw the se-des with Christmas music.”

Draco smiled slightly in return, not quite able to feel his mate’s joy while the invitations seemed to glare up at him from the kitchen table. “It’s brilliant, love.”

Sometimes Draco thought Neville could read him too well, because his mood instantly sobered and sat down on the chair next to Draco with an arm circling around his shoulders, “Draco, is everything okay?”   
Drawing in a deep breath, Draco nodded his head, “Yeah, no, it’s fine. I’m probably overreacting. It’s just these stupid Christmas parties.”

He handed the two pieces of paper over to Neville who looked at him with searching eyes before his eyes fell down to the invitations in his hands. After a few seconds Neville’s face turned gentle and he gave Draco one of those warm, tender looks which he only reserved for Draco, “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Draco glared, “I don’t want to prevent you enjoying Christmas just because I can’t.”

“I won’t enjoy it if you’re not there,” Neville replied simply.

If possible Draco’s glare intensified, “Just fucking go, Longbottom. You don’t need to be here to hold my hand.”

The two of them stared intensely at each other, willing the other to relent. Draco knew that Neville could be just as stubborn as he was, and was stronger and bigger if things turned physical. The number of times Neville had sat on him when he thought Draco was acting particularly stupid was ridiculous and not to mention undignified, and Draco wold rather it didn’t go that far but he wasn’t giving in so easily when it was something so important.

Neville’s gaze softened and he huffed, “Fine. Fine, I get it. But what about a compromise?”

“Okay,” Draco said sourly and crossed his arms, annoyed with himself that even though he hadn’t lost the argument he still wasn’t getting his way, “What are you suggesting?”

There was a brief pause where Neville appeared deep in thought, “Alright. How about this; we use the money we’ve been saving up to buy enough Wolfsbane to last you for that cycle. No dodgy, experimental ones cooked up by you and Snape that might or might not work.”

Gnashing his teeth together in anger, Draco was taking a moment to compose himself so he didn’t say something he might regret. “Firstly of all, the potions are not ‘dodgy’. You know Severus and I are making them to create an alternative, cheaper way of dealing with my lycanthropy. Which brings me to my next point; we’ve been saving that money for ages to go to travel Europe. We’re not wasting them on something so trivial as me behaving like a good dog at Christmas parties.” His voice was ice cold, but Draco almost wish he’d been shouting when he saw the dejected look on Neville’s face.

He sighed, feeling the fire escape him as quickly as it had risen, “Listen, I just don’t want us to be using our savings on this. I don’t believe it’s worth it. Besides, there’s no way that Potter and Weasley will let me in as a wolf, especially with the children there. And don’t let me get started on how my parents might react – they still like to pretend I’m their picture perfect pureblood son. They wouldn’t even let me past the wards.”

Neville got up without a word and offered Draco his hand.

Draco stated in disbelief, “I hardly think Slade is the best to dance to, Longbottom.”

“Eh? ... just take my damned hand, Draco.”

Sending the hand a sceptical look Draco shrugged and grabbed Neville’s hand, figuring that nothing could surprise him more than his mate figuring out his old stereo.

He found himself eating his own words when Neville extracted an impressed stack of parchment hidden in a small drawer in the living room. After examining them more closely he realised they were letters, and with surprise recognised the neat handwriting of his Mother.

“What is this?” He asked as he withdrew his hand, eyeing the letters in distrust.

Neville glanced between the parchment in his hands and Draco, his expression unreadable as he spoke carefully, “Your Mother writes to me every month. Checking up on you, making sure you’re alright, that you are eating. She that she never sees you anymore, that she worries, but that she understands your reasons.”

Draco stared in disbelief as Neville spoke, not quite comprehending what his mate was telling him. “You’ve been speaking to my parents?”

A brief flash of insecurity flickered over Neville’s face, “Uh.. yes.. I’m sorry I went behind your back, but I wanted to be a good... partner to you by letting your parents know you were safe.. with me.”

Unsure how he was supposed to react, Draco bit his lip. One part of him was shaking with anger that Neville had crossed him like this, but another larger part glowed with affection that someone would go out of their way to ensure his safety and happiness like this. He wasn’t going to let Neville off the hook so easily though, “You know, I wish you’d talked to me about this. About my parents contacting you. There’s a reason I keep my distance.”

Neville sighed, “And I know that, and I’m sorry. But that wasn’t really the point here; I wanted to show you how much they care. About you. I know there are some things that are inexcusable and that they are to blame for quite a few things, but they’re your family...”

Draco felt a creeping sense of discomfort as Neville went on, thinking about his mate’s own parents who were stuck in a ward in St. Mungo’s with little way of expressing affection or taking care of their own son. He swallowed, realising why Neville was so passionate about this.

“... Draco, what I’m trying to say is that they love you regardless. I mean, look at this.” He said, indicating to the parchment cradled in his arms before picking up the one on the to, handing it to Draco, “Look.”

Without taking the offered letter or removing his gaze from Neville’s, Draco folded his arms, “I trust you.” If Draco was honest with himself he knew he was being unfair, that Neville thought this was important to show him but that he didn’t want to see. The thought of seeing his parents intimidated him in many ways, despite all the years that had passed since the bite, the hearing, Fenrir, the running away, finding Neville and so forth. If he was truthful to himself, he knew it was because he still had trouble accepting and forgiving these things himself.

Neville sighed in frustration and muttered, “Certainly doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

Even though Draco knew he deserved it he still winced at the words, “You know it’s not like that, Neville. I just...” Draco groaned, searching for a way to explain the complicated relationship he had with his parents, “I don’t want them to think of me as less than I was.”

“And why would they think that?” Neville asked as he turned around and tucked the letters back into the drawer. If it had been anyone else Draco would have considered it to be a dismissive action, but for Neville it was a way of giving Draco space to talk.

Draco shrugged and tucked his hands into the pockets of his muggle jeans, “I don’t know.”

They’d had this conversation plenty of times before, and it always ended the same way. Draco would wallow in self-loathing, Neville would first be sympathetic then get annoyed at Draco’s stubbornness, then Draco would yell and ask him why he even cared and hadn’t ran out years ago, and Neville would stare while Draco raged at the unfairness of it all before wrapping Draco up in a tight hug while muttering empty nothings until the werewolf calmed down.

Heaving a breath, Draco cast a look at Neville who was standing there as tall and handsome as ever, exuding warmth and love which only Neville was capable of. Draco really wondered what he’d ever done to deserve him, and why he always challenged him with these stupid fights. It really wasn’t worth it.

Without warning strong arms tightened around Draco who drew a shuddering breath and realised all the tension he’d kept wrapped up within him because of his parents. Burying his face in the soft fabric of Neville’s cardigan, Draco inhaled the scent of it deeply and felt the wolf within purr in satisfaction.

“I should see them, shouldn’t I,” the voice was barely audible, muffled by the knitted jacket Neville was wearing, but Draco knew that his mate had heard him from the way the arms tightened around him reassuringly.

"I think...” Neville started, choosing his words carefully, “You should do what you think is best for you. It’s not my decision to make, even if I think you know my standpoint in this.”

Draco was silent as he processed Neville’s words, thankful for the comforting lull of the way they swayed to the faint music of his old muggle records.

“Fine.” Draco muttered finally, “I will go. I’m not going to their stupid party however. I hardly fit into their high-class functions with fancy dress robes and talks about money and politics anymore. I’ll go after Christmas, and you’re coming with.”

Neville halted in their careful swaying to look down at Draco, “You want me to... meet them?”

“Sure. Mother should know who she’s apparently harassing on a monthly basis about the welfare of her son.”

Neville hummed in agreement as he resumed the slow dance they’d started, “Okay. Don’t get upset when your dad hexes me though.”

“I think Mother will be more upset if I’m honest. She banned duelling in the house after that time Zabini and I accidentally melted the Black’s old China.” Draco chuckled at the memory of his Mother standing there in her long gown, a disapproving look on her face which could make Voldemort himself run for the hills.

From the way Neville’s chest vibrated, Draco could tell the other man was laughing with him. “I can live with that, I think.”

Draco shrugged, “Your funeral.”

They went silent, only swaying back and forth in time with the music playing in the background.

‘ _So here it is Merry Xmas, everybody’s having fun. Look to the future now, it’s only just begun.’_

“Did you put this on repeat?” Draco murmured sleepily, feeling tiredness seep into his bones at Neville’s comforting presence.

“What do you mean?” Neville whispered back, obviously aware of Draco’s current state.

“I’m pretty sure this record had more than one track. I mean, as much as I like Slade, it gets a bit repetitive after a while.”

“Oh.” Neville said simply, seemingly not understanding what Draco was telling him but not bothering to prod further as if he was sensing Draco slowly slipping away.

Draco grinned sleepily, the wool of Neville’s jumper caressing his cheek as they swayed around their small living room, “How did you become such a good dancer, Longbottom?”

“At the Yuleball in fourth year. McGonagall taught us. Danced with Ginny Weasley the whole night.”

“Really? That must have been a sight... then again, so was Snape trying to teach the Slytherins proper ballroom etiquette.”

Neville actually laughed out loud at that as he twirled them around happily, expertly avoiding the low coffee table in the middle of the room, “Oh dear, I’d pay some good money to see that.”

“Yeah,” Draco smiled, “You should have been there.”

“So what did Snape teach you Slytherins about dancing then?”

“Absolutely nothing. Simply kept telling us to not spike the punch, otherwise we’d all be staring down the bottom of Snape’s dirty cauldrons by the end of the week.”

“That’s a shame.”

“How so?” Draco was growing more tired by the second, and he knew that he’d soon be falling asleep in his mate’s arms. Not that he minded really, but Neville wouldn’t be too happy with having to carry him to bed again.

Draco felt Neville’s shoulder dig into his face as he shrugged, “I don’t know. I just think you’d be expected to be a good ballroom dancer coming from a high social standing and all.”

“If you’re so displeased with my lack of skill, then maybe you should be dancing with the Family house elf.”

“No offense to those poor creatures, but beauty over brains any day.”

“Are you saying I’m dumb?”

Neville smiled gently down at Draco and placed a tender kiss on his forehead, “No, I’m just saying that I appreciate more your looks more than I appreciate a dancing house elf. Besides, you making stumbling around the dance floor that much more attractive.”

Draco huffed in amusement, “You won’t be saying that when I’m stepping on all your toes at the Christmas parties.”

“Oh no, don’t worry about that. I will be dancing with Ginny anyway. You can dance with Harry, rumour has it that he’s rubbish at waltz, so you’ll be perfect together.”

“Potter and I are the least compatible people I’ve ever known.”

“You think so?” Neville said absently as he gently swayed them to the rhythm. If Draco wasn’t half asleep in his arms, he’d have decked him from whatever he was about to insinuate. “Tempers and years of dispute aside, I always thought the two of you would be perfect for each other. I mean, thank God Harry’s straight, otherwise I’d worry.”

Draco thumped Neville’s chest half heartedly as a blush spread across his face, “Fuck right off, Longbottom. You know wed kill each other within the first day. And besides, who’d be looking out for you if not me? You’d be dead too.”

“Actually, I think I’d only get in half the trouble if I wasn’t with you.” Said Neville, his voice full of humour and laughter which made warm, fuzzy feelings spread through Draco in ways he’d never admit.

“What do you mean trouble? I’m the picture of innocence,” Draco couldn’t conceal the Cheshire like grin stretching across its face even if he tried.

“Oh, where do I start? The boggart? The incidence with Lockhart? The wonky polyjuice? That time with Teddy? Ron?”

Draco lifted his chin superiorly, his nose turned up at that perfect angle which he knew made him seem disgustingly spoilt and posh, “Well,” he sniffed, “All well deserved, in my opinion. Except maybe the Teddy one. He didn’t speak to me for days.”

“And what a rare occasion to see you sulk like that time.”

“I wasn’t skulking, merely contemplating the best course of action to – “

“Embarrass yourself in a unusual display of selflessness to make a five year old forgive you for destroying his favourite stuffed dragon?”

“I gave him that dragon.”

“I know, love.”

“Maybe I should get him a new one for Christmas this year.”

“You could give it to him in person even.”

“I never agreed to your compromise.”

“You didn’t? I thought it was implied.”

“You’re mistaken. I will take it into consideration though.”

Neville made a noise of contentment which sent vibrations through Draco’s body, which was propped up purely by Neville’s body strength alone, “I’d like that.”

“Yeah,” Draco smiled gently, hugging is Gryffindor close, “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a life of its own. I was actually landing on keeping their er action shorto, then have them attend Harry's party, but it grew out of hand and a lot more sloppy and gooey than I intended. Also, this was written on my tablet, since my laptop is back at my flat while I'm home for Christmas. 
> 
> For the next chapter I've planned a Neville-centric story. It's a better thought out, but I had to establish a few things before I could write it. 
> 
> As always, send me promot's and ideas! I'd love to write a few things that you guys would like to see :) 
> 
> Merry Christmas!


	5. a Reminicent Day in February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some opinions are expressed in this chapter, which doesn't all reflect my own. Just a wee heads-up.  
> Also, this chapter took an unexpected direction, but just go with it. I think it turned out alright?

The air was raw and cold where they standing outside the deteriorated department store, the muggles passing by barely glanced at them, too occupied with their own business to care about two blokes huddling together for warmth.

Draco looked up at the muggle building that was supposedly ‘under renovation’, wondering how St. Mungo’s hospital came to be located in Croydon of all places. It wasn’t that it was a bad place, but well, it kind of was – for London at least.

“Hey,” said Neville, nudging him, “Stop looking so shifty, you are making me nervous.”

“Sorry, it’s just… this area is putting me on edge.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Neville said, “Really? Says you, who lived in that dingy flat in Leith for ages?”

Okay, so Leith had been pretty bad, Draco would admit. There had been loads of drugs and violence, but at least the Scottish were nice about their assaults in a way – they’d glass you but at the same time be like, ‘Alright pal, it’s nothin’ against you like’. London just felt a lot more impersonal in that aspect.

Draco shrugged noncommittally, knowing that it sounded ridiculous if he tried to voice his reasoning out-loud, “What can I say, I liked the chavs and druggies up North better.”

“So, that time you literally crashed into me on Cowgate, you were being chased by the _nice_ chavs?” said Neville disbelievingly, both his eyebrows raising now.

Blinking innocently with wide eyes, Draco cooed sickly sweet, “They lead me to you, didn’t they?”

Neville barked out a laugh, “Oh piss right off! You looked like you might have murdered me right there! Actually, as I remember it, you tried to hit me.”

“You were blocking my way! And those chavs were very angry with their Lambrini bottles and that!”

They were getting some strange looks from the muggles passing now, and Neville slipped an arm around Draco’s waist, who felt himself being casually lead towards the window that was St. Mungo’s visitors entrance, “Of course, dear,” said Neville complaisantly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Don’t ‘of course, dear’ me, you know I hate it when you do that.”

“Of course not, dear,” Neville’s smirk had turned into a full-blown mischievous grin now, making Draco think he’d hung out too much with the Weasley twins again.

“Neville…” growled Draco warningly, as he was lead through past the dummy in the building and into St. Mungo’s reception.

Neville chuckled apologetically, “But you’re so pretty though.”

“I swear, I will punch you so hard in the tit when –,”

“Boys, may I help you?” interrupted an elderly nurse crisply, her mouth set into a tight line. She obviously didn’t approve of their language. She reminded Draco of McGonagall.

“Nurse Gilligan! Yes please,” said Neville, exuding polite, nervous energy, “I’m here to visit my parents? The Longbottoms.”

The nurse squinted at Neville, before recognition flashed in her eyes and she smiled sweetly, “Oh, Neville, I barely recognised you! Of course dear, they just finished lunch, so they should be back in their normal bunks. Will your…” She eyed Draco and Neville’s arm that was securely wrapped around him curiously, “friend, be joining you?”

“Uh,” said Draco intelligently as all eyes turned to him, “I think I will go to the tea rooms to wait. If that’s okay?” He directed the question at Neville unsurely. He wanted to be there to support Neville of course, but having been there to visit with him before he knew how personal the whole ordeal was to his mate, and he’d rather not intrude with his awkwardness. On top of that, Draco felt ridden with guilt for Alice and Frank’s affliction, as it had been his close family who’d robbed Neville of his parents.

Neville nodded understandingly, giving Draco’s waist a squeeze imitating a one-armed hug, “I’ll walk you.”

They headed towards the lifts with a small wave from Nurse Gilligan, Neville only reluctantly letting go of Draco as they went inside the small space that’d take them upstairs. Draco drew a deep, calming breath as the doors closed and the lift started to move, trying to settle the wolf inside him which whined at the unnatural movement and cramped box. Draco had never been claustrophobic before getting bitten, being more than used to crowds and little spaces from childhood, but it seemed that werewolves associated it with danger and capture, and got incredibly agitated whenever Draco found himself in a big mass of people or small, metallic boxes such as lifts.

“You okay?” asked Neville, his voice full of concern as he stared resolutely at the display indicating floor numbers. His hands twitched in Draco’s direction, but he knew not to touch the werewolf when it became like this.

“Shouldn’t it be me asking you that?” responded Draco jokingly, but it sounded forced and strained even to his own ears. The lift creaked threateningly, as Draco tensed, feeling long, sharp nails dig into his palms and pierce the skin. He hissed, “Fucking hate these things.”

“Then why not take the stairs?”

Draco shook his head, “Too many people there, moving too close. It’d be like swapping one evil for another.”

Again, Neville nodded understandingly just as the lift doors opened to reveal the fifth floor, “I’ll come get you later, alright? It shouldn’t be too long, Mum usually gets tired after a while.”

Taking a step to walk out of the lift, Draco abruptly turned and engulfed a much larger Neville in a hug to the best of his ability, burying his face in his broad chest.

Neville looked stunned for a brief second, before returning the hug, “Draco, are you sure you’re okay?”

Draco mumbled something nonsensical into Neville’s shirt and pushed himself off, “Now go visit your parents.” The Gryffindor looked like he was about to say something, but Draco rushed out of the lift and waved with a smirk directed at Neville just as the doors closed, “See you in a bit.”

The lift went down to the fourth floor where Neville’s parents stayed, and Draco watched the display as the lift stopped, and then returned down to the ground floor. He observed the indicator until the lift finally got back to the main reception, then exhaled forcefully and shook his head. “So fucking terrible at this bullshit,” he muttered to himself, then turned to find a table to sit at.

There weren’t many visitors at this time of day, it being only noon in the middle of a work-week. There were a few elderly people sitting at the small tea tables distributed around the large room, while some young children played around them, but no one that Draco recognised.

He made his way over to a table in the far corner, by-stepping two small kids playing with an action figure that looked suspiciously like Potter. They looked at him with large eyes as he passed but there was no way that they were able to recognise him, as they looked to be barely Teddy’s age of seven years old. A few of the older people seemed to however, and Draco could feel both curious and suspicious eyes on him as he passed tables.

Keeping his head bowed as he walked, but resisting the urge to put up the hood of his muggle-jumper and hide from the imploring gazes – he had some pride left after all – he sat down at the table, which magically got set with a large teapot, a cup and some biscuits.

“Thank you,” he whispered, knowing the house elf which had brought him the snacks had heard him by the soft squeak that followed quickly after. Draco smiled slightly before pouring himself some tea; black with no sugar, and pulled out the book he’d brought with him out of his pocket.

It was one he’d gotten off Granger, who had taken it upon herself to practically drown him in literature after discovering he was a ‘massive swot’ as Blaise liked to call him. She’d give him a new book for each he finished, both muggle and magical, then initiate a grand discussion about every possible aspect of the book he’d just returned. She claimed it was because it good to have something in common to discuss, but Draco knew she’d longed for someone to talk with about the books she so loved, especially since Potter or Weasley had never shown any interest in them and their discussions were hardly stimulating nor challenging.  

Draco could admit it was nice, because no one in Slytherin had ever shown any particular interest in books, and when he’d lived with Blaise in that terrible flat at the bottom of Leith Walk there wasn’t much to do except read and smoke, and Blaise was always so dramatic and mocking about it;

“Mate, this act was all fun and games when you used it to ward off Pansy’s advances, but I’m seriously getting concerned for you. You’re reading _arithmancy_ , not even Granger would approve of this! Drake, can were-puppies even read?”

Blaise had never been particularly good at insulting people, but it probably didn’t help that he was high as a kite most of the time back then. High on drugs he’d bought with _their_ rent money Draco liked to remind him.

Draco cracked open the spine of the book, the sound and smell comforting sensations in the unfamiliarity of the hospital’s weird, sterile scents and colours. Granger had recommended it to him because he’d requested some light reading, but Draco had totally forgotten who he was talking to, so he should have not been so surprised when she handed him a large collection of the Chronicles of Narnia. It wasn’t that it wasn’t light reading, but Draco had kind of imagined another small book like Dorian Grey when he’d talked to her. 

He had only gotten a few pages in when someone plunked down in the seat opposite of him. It couldn’t possibly be Neville so soon, and Draco gave an experimental sniff but not recognising the scent.

He took his eyes off the page he was reading, wondering who the hell dared to sit down with him, only to be met with the sight of Gilderoy Lockheart smiling winningly at Draco from across the table.

Draco blinked in complete perplexity at his old professor, haven completely forgotten of the man’s existence for the past years. He looked older, naturally, the bland handsomeness he’d possessed only having matured with him.

“Hello there,” Lockheart greeted, his voice so loud and boisterous it made Draco wince at the volume.

Lockheart seemed oblivious however, though it was hardly surprising, as Draco remembered him to be an oblivious and useless professor who was more concerned with his own reflection than the well-fare of others.

“Alright,” Draco muttered, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded defensively. Not that he thought Lockheart was dangerous or anything, it was more the strange looks that the other witches and wizards were shooting him, as they were wondering why the former celebrity was sitting down with a mutt such as Draco.

“Can I help you, or something?” said Draco flatly when the older wizard made no indication to speak any further.

“Oh, my dear boy! No, I am afraid you cannot. I am in the unfortunate position that I do not know who I am, and the healers here tell me repeatedly but I always seem to forget. I am supposedly quite famous though, so I might seem familiar to you.”

Draco honestly couldn’t tell whether Lockheart was being condescending or that he was just so far up his own arse like before that even a memory charm couldn’t fix it.

“I know who you are,” Draco replied and took a sip of his tea, “But I can’t claim I was ever a fan. I don’t think I was your target audience.”

Lockheart hummed thoughtfully, as if the comment was to be marvel over in great detail, “Interesting. You think I had a target audience? Who? The ladies here in the tearoom always seem to admire me quite a bit, if I might be so bold to say. That’s why I like coming up here, people are always so lovely and want to talk to me. It’s really quite something.”  

Draco stared at the man even more flatly than before, if that was even possible, “Right. So why exactly are you here bothering me then?”

“You looked like you could need some company. And not many other patients come up here besides me, so –,”

“Wait,” Draco cut him off sharply, holding up a hand to stop the man from talking, “You think I’m a patient?”

“Aren’t you?”

“ _No_.”

“I must apologise. I just assumed due to your appearance, it looks like you’ve been attacked by a wild animal. It’s a shame about the scars, you’re a very handsome young man.”

Draco blinked incredulously at Lockheart, who beamed at him as if he’d just given Draco the best compliment ever. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been told multiple times before that the scars marring his face and neck, and the other parts hidden underneath layers of clothing, were horrific, but the pure nature of Lockhearts naivety, or rather, stupidity, completely floored Draco.

“Oh, don’t worry my dear boy. It adds a certain aura of mystery and ruggedness, like you’ve been on unfathomable adventures. Or maybe you have? Say, how did you get them?”

“It’s from a wild beast,” Draco admitted shortly, his teeth gnashing together forcefully. Why was he telling Lockheart this? He’d hardly ever told anyone about what Fenrir had done to him, nor about how quite a few of these were from himself those nights he’d experimented on variations of the Wolfsbane potion. Only Neville knew that.

“Really? What –,”

Draco shot up from his chair, attracting all the eyes in the room to him, “You have to excuse me, I have to go find my mate,” he rushed out. Draco had always credited himself with holding his card close to his chest, but Lockheart had somehow still some of that charm left in which he was able to pry away at people’s secrets bit by bit, even if it was unintentional. It wasn’t like he could write a book about Draco’s pathetic mistakes in life anyway and use them as his own, as that would only discredit him more if that was possible.

“I hope you aren’t leaving because of me. I am told I pry too much sometimes, and it’s an unfortunate habit I have yet to break. Please, sit.” Lockheart sounded so goddamn sincere too, and Draco wanted nothing more than to rush downstairs and find Neville, and so did the wolf, but he found himself reluctantly sitting back down, gripping his book tightly.

The two of them remained quiet for a little while, Lockheart sipping loudly on his tea, while Draco’s senses were in wolfish overdrive. Sounds, scents and colour was changing, and he just hoped his eyes weren’t turning the arctic blue Neville often described to him.

“So,” Lockheart said finally, “If you are not here as a patient, then I assume you’re visiting?”

It was a weak attempt at normal, impersonal discourse, but it made Draco sigh in relief, “I’m here with my… boyfriend,” He was always a bit reluctant to admit that to strangers, as homosexuality was even less accepted in the Wizarding society than Muggle society. Werewolves’ sexuality was naturally fluid however, so it was less frowned upon in that sense, but then the mate had to take a lot of shit as they chose to mate with a werewolf in the first place. It was all ridiculously complicated, and the flawed logic even more so, “He’s visiting his parents.”

“I see,” said Lockheart, taking another loud, gurgling sip of his tea, making Draco grimace at the lack of etiquette. He might not have practiced the Malfoy manners ever since he’d left the Manor after the trials, but at least he ate with his mouth shut and drank his tea _quietly_ , “Have the two of you been together for long?”

Draco nodded reluctantly, unsure where Lockheart was going with this. It was quite unlike him to take interest in anything other than himself. “For…” He hesitated, suddenly unsure how long it’d been since Neville had made an unexpected, then unwanted return to Draco’s life when it had been at one of it’s lowest. They’d been twenty then, “…five years now, I think.”

Lockheart took one last big gulp from his tea, then smiled charmingly, “It’s nice to hear that some young love lasts. I don’t remember anything from my love-life, but I am told that I was quite the charmer with the ladies. And some gentlemen, if the rumours are correct,” He laughed heartily at his own joke.

Ah, there it is, Draco thought grudgingly. It had been too good to be true that a backfired obliviate had changed this man’s self-centredness.

“Unfortunately, there aren’t many of them these days,” Lockheart trailed off with a sigh, and Draco had this dreadful feeling that his old professor was hitting on him, as ridiculous as that notion was, “Most of the visitors here are lovely, of course, and I receive letters daily, but –,”

Draco shot up from the table again, feeling incredibly awkward and uncomfortable, “I really should go now. To find my ma – boyfriend. Goodbye.”

He rushed out of the tea room, to the thankfully empty staircase leading down a floor to the Spell damage ward, which he knew Neville was visiting his parents. He knew he was probably overreacting, that his old professor was probably just being self-absorbed as usual, but it bothered Draco how he’d phrased himself, like he had some sort of ulterior motive badly concealed in all his self-pity.

The thought itself made Draco want to gag.

Coming to a halt in front of the exit leading to the Spell damage ward, Draco hesitated. He really shouldn’t interrupt Neville’s visit like this, simply because he was being put off by a lonely man’s terrible, maybe imaginary advances.

Sighing to himself, he went to turn around to go back to wait upstairs, knowing that Neville would come fetch him once he was done visiting his parents, only to bump into the nurse from earlier.

“Is everything alright there?” She asked, sounding a lot friendlier now than when he and Neville had met her previously.

“I, uh,” Merlin, she must think he’s an idiot,” Just waiting for Neville, really but I didn’t want to interrupt. I was going to go back to the tea room to wait, but…”

She gave him a knowing look, “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I assume you bumped into Gildeory?”

Draco nodded mutely, feeling like he was a misbehaved child that was under questioning.

“I understand,” She said, “Gilderoy is a very lonely man, even if he conceals it well. He’s a bit intense, but you mustn’t hold it against him, he means no harm.” She – Nurse Gilligan, Draco remembered, patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” Draco muttered, feeling suddenly embarrassed about his exaggerated reaction back in the tea room.

“Come now, I will show you were Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom are staying.”

Draco trailed after Nurse Gilligan like a obedient puppy with his head hung, all embarrassed and uncomfortable as she lead him down rows and rows of beds.

“This is the Janus Thickey Ward, where the more permanent residents are staying,” she informed him, “It’s usually kept locked so the residents don’t wander about, but…” a glint of mischief, barely detectable glinted in her eye, telling Draco all he had to know. He liked this nurse.

She opened the door for him, but when Draco didn’t budge from where he was standing her face softened into a tender smile, “On you go, dear. It’s alright. The Longbottoms will be at the far end of the room.”

Stepping carefully inside, he heard the door shut behind him. The ward was small, with beds lining the walls, divided by screens so people could have their privacy. He could hear Neville’s voice in the corner furthest away from the door, being the only sound in the room except of the quiet noise of a woman scratching her face which was covered in fur.

As quietly and slowly as he could, Draco walked down the aisles of beds, careful not to disturb the residents who hadn’t snuck out thanks to Nurse Gilligan leaving the door unlocked.

Neville was sitting in a chair positioned between two beds, talking softly to the people tucked into them. Frank Lonbottom was a thin, tall man, who looked like he’d been quite handsome in his earlier years, but hospitalisation had taken its toll on him. Neville’s mother, Alice, was small, with short hair and a round face and a tender smile, which was incredibly familiar to Draco. Neville had just the same one.

The Longbottoms had yet to notice him, and Draco watched as Neville told a story about the time Teddy had stayed over at theirs and created havoc in Draco’s potions lab. It’d taken days to clean, and Draco had never seen Severus so distressed in his life over the chaos the eight-year-old had managed to create. It was a good story.

Draco felt a gentle smile tug at the corners of his lips as feelings of affection warmed him inside as he watched his mate tell the story to his parents with such enthusiasm and vigour. It was quite nice to see him so comfortable and in his element. Neville never gave himself enough credit like that.

Alice eyes suddenly met Draco’s, her eyes full of intent and intelligence. It was not the eyes of someone who had completely lost their sanity.

She made the shape of a C with her hand and placed it so it encircled her right eye.  Neville noticed the motion, and he stared at his mother for a second, before his eyes travelled to where she was looking.

Draco felt like a deer in headlights as his mate’s eyes finally landed on him, like he was interrupting a private moment, but Neville’s face only softened, and the same tender, loving smile Draco had seen on his mother formed on his lips.  

“Mum, Dad, this is Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, Alice used the sign language for 'Moon'. (An idea which I first saw in "By moonlight" by Eiiri. Go check it out, it's an amazing fic!)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


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